


an excuse to get hurt

by izzygone



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blood Play, Crying During Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Violence, Possessive Behavior, Punishment, Sex on a Car, Spanking, but like, in a hot way?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 15:33:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12061902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzygone/pseuds/izzygone
Summary: So like 1000 years ago,cxrranamasked me to write a jealous!kavinsky fic. I finally did that.





	an excuse to get hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cxrranam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cxrranam/gifts).



> Shoutout to [cxrranam](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cxrranam), who is literally the most patient person ever. I think I promised to write this... maybe last summer??? But it's finally finished. She only requested jealousy and spanking. The blood play is entirely my fault. 
> 
> I believe this also fills a request I had on my tumblr for "jealous!kavinsky rovinsky" with rough sex and possessive behavior :)
> 
> This isn't beta'd bc I didn't want to break that streak.

It started the moment Ronan Lynch laid eyes on Adam Parrish. Kavinsky was there. He saw the _look_  as Ronan took him in, watched Ronan’s pupils dilate, saw the flush spreading from his neck across his face, could almost _feel_ the lust that blew through Ronan like a hot wind through a desert. 

And Joseph Kavinsky was having none of it.

 

***

 

That night, he took Ronan away from the pack. They’d been clustered around a burning sports car in the middle of a field, tripping on coke and pills and booze and sex, and no one noticed or cared when their leader disappeared with their second in command. They all assumed it was the usual - K and Ronan fucked so on the regular it was less noteworthy than the sun rising.

But this time it was different. Ronan saw it in K’s eyes the second he felt Kavinsky’s grip around his wrist, rougher than usual, searing a bruise into Ronan’s skin worse than any rope might have.

So he wasn’t surprised to find himself bent over K’s knees a minute later, jeans lost and ass naked to the rapidly cooling Virginia air. Kavinsky had opened the passenger door to one of the hundred white Mitsubishis parked in the field behind the fairgrounds and situated himself on the seat there. The interior of this car was slightly larger than the original model, a little more leg and headroom. A car dreamed specifically for sex.

If K’s mood hadn’t been obvious even before Ronan bent over, it was painfully clear with the first smack of his open palm over Ronan’s bare ass. He felt it through his whole body like lava in his blood stream coupled with a hot punch of humiliation that knotted in his stomach. It was painfully apparent in that moment that this was not for play. 

This was punishment.

And Ronan didn’t even have a chance to ask what he could do to make up for whatever sin he’d committed because Kavinsky didn’t stop, didn’t stay his hand even as Ronan cried out, his dick hardening against the rough of K’s jeans. And Ronan hollered and cursed and begged, but K didn’t seem to hear him. Just brought his hand down harder and faster and _harder_ , leaving bright, red-hot imprints, so much force it must have hurt his own hand just as badly.

And K was speaking, cursing in Bulgarian and growling, reminding Ronan that he was _his_  and Ronan agreed but couldn’t say so, the pain was so acute, each blow a brutal flame licking from his ass up his spine and then back, a cruel echo chamber of fire in his veins. 

Then, just for a moment, the slaps stopped and Ronan gasped quietly, ready to beg _please, please, stop just stop -_  and then K’s hand was back on him, first running a soothing open palm over his reddened skin and then - oh _god_. Ronan cried out as K’s nails scraped at his inflamed skin and _please don’t_  but K did, digging in and earning a harsh scream, blood already so near the skin blooming out through the tin cuts. Ronan couldn’t process what was happening but he heard a noise, a low keening and _oh god_  that was Kavinsky, watching the blood pooling along the scratches, bright against the pink flush of Ronan’s overworked skin.

He was getting off on this.

Well, of course he was. What didn’t get Kavinsky off when it came to Ronan? But this was something special - something _new_  and Ronan had to grit his teeth against the rage and knowledge that this was getting him off _too_.

Ronan took in a few deep, shaky breaths. Fuck fuck _fuck_ , Kavinsky was playing around now, running his fingers over the cuts and coaxing more blood to the surface, and Ronan could feel it starting to collect, almost enough to  drip down his skin, ready to splash over the dirty upholstery. It stung like he’d scraped all his skin off, but it was almost _nice_. Something between a paper cut and a knife wound, and it made him _feel_  again for once. He thought maybe he even liked it - maybe he’d let Kavinsky do this to him again except -

Kavinsky’s hand came down on his ass again and oh fucking _fuck_ , it stung like getting bitch slapped with a meteor this time and Ronan was pretty sure his scream could be heard over the noise of the bonfire and that the pack might come running -

But they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. Even when K brought his hand down again and again, harsh against the hair-thin cuts on Ronan’s ass, more blood welling up there, red and angry like Ronan’s soul.

And K kept at him, possessed and hungry for the little lines of blood that appeared each time he raised his hand away and smeared across Ronan’s ass when he brought it back down, again and again and _again_.

At some point, tears sprung in Ronan’s eyes and he felt them sliding down his cheeks, over his neck, staining the collar of the shirt he still wore. He realized, too, that his knees had given out and he was leaning, fully, heavily across Kavinsky. It occurred to him now, too, now that his throat was raw from the screaming and his was already red and throbbing so he probably wouldn’t be able to sit properly for _weeks,_ now it occurred to him that he probably should have _fought_  this at some point. K had one hand on his back, holding him in place, but that wasn’t enough, not really. Not enough to keep Ronan anywhere he didn’t want to be, getting any kind of punishment he didn’t deep down believe he deserved. So he stayed. This was Kavinsky and they hurt each other and they belonged together and even though this was terrible and Ronan was nothing now except a ball of oversensitive nerves and throbbing pain and _want_ , he couldn’t think of another place he’d rather be.

Eventually, after how many ferocious slaps, Ronan couldn’t fathom counting, K started to slow. Not completely, but the blows fell slower, more softly; waves in wake of a tsunami. They were both breathing rough, Kavinsky nearly hyperventilating, Ronan taking deep breaths between sobs, trying to calm his heart and pulse and body. He couldn’t hear or feel or move. He was out of body, like the pain wasn’t even registering right now and he knew his ass was a red, throbbing beacon under K’s trembling hand, and he wished, _god_ , he’d love to pretend he wasn’t still hard as steel against K’s leg. But he could feel the hard outline of Kavinsky’s dick under him, too, and he knew he not only wanted but deserved everything he’d gotten so far and everything he was going to get after.

Like making a point, K brought his hand down a few more times, making Ronan sob and clench his fist in the material of K’s jeans. He felt raw and hoarse, like he did sometimes after letting every member of the pack use him after a fight or a race, when they all came down his throat or in his ass or both. He never thought one person could make him feel all that without even getting his dick out. But that was Kavinsky for you. 

Finally, K stopped. Or nearly. He pressed the heel of his hand, hard, against Ronan’s skin, making Ronan’s vision whiten and pulling a wet, high pitched sound from his lungs. Then K leaned over, pressing an open mouth kiss - more teeth than lips - to the back of Ronan’s neck and whispered, “You belong to me.” 

Ronan couldn’t do much except nod forcefully. Yes, _yes,_ this wouldn’t be the time to disagree, even if it wasn’t true. His nodding only earned him another press of the hand, another bite, “Say it.”

Ronan opened his mouth but only gasped, more tears springing to his eyes unbidden, the hot-soreness of K’s palm against the blood on his ass enough to take all his words away. K raised the hand, an unspoken threat that he might bring it down and start this all over again, “Say. It.”

“I’m yours!” Ronan’s voice was foreign - a harsh, dark whisper that didn’t belong to him but to someone whose throat had been fucked by a hundred dicks, “I’m yours, only yours, I swear it.” He felt K’s dick jump underneath him at the words. To think this all could have been avoided if Ronan had only said as much sooner -  

“That’s right. Now get out of the car.” 

Ronan blinked a couple of times, _what, how_  - he couldn’t move even if he wanted to and he’d just given K what he wanted and - K shoved him. Out, into the cold Virginia air and Ronan didn’t stand a chance. His knees hadn’t recovered and he fell onto them, the harsh gravel eating into the bare skin of his knees and palms. He let out another sob and waited, curious and angry and rock hard wondering what K was planning next.

“Get up.” K was standing next to him now, shades on and all cool indifference despite the tent in his pants. He nudged Ronan’s leg, “Over the hood. Now.”

K’s voice didn’t leave much room for argument, which usually made Ronan want to fight back harder, but not now, not tonight. He was too raw, too sore and ready for a fuck. He couldn’t get up, he knew that already, so he didn’t even try. Instead, he crawled, the rocks feeling almost _too_  good digging into his skin, an unexpected and pleasant distraction from the burning skin on his ass. K made a noise halfway between begrudging approval and a whimper, and Ronan hid his smirk. After everything Kavinsky did to prove otherwise, Ronan knew K’d always be weak for him. There was a certain kind of power in that.

When he reached the front of the car, he pulled himself up using the grill and bent over, splaying his upper body over the hood, shivering with pleasure as the cool metal soothed his overheated skin. He might have come just from the sensation except K was behind him in an instant, pressing his jeans-covered dick against Ronan’s red-hot ass and making him cry out again.

“ _Please_ ,” He breathed, and the words sounded like they were pulled from Ronan unwilling, but that couldn’t be less true. Ronan _loved_  to beg; he loved it because it made K lose his fucking mind, “ _Please_ , I’ll be good, K, I’ll be so good for you. For only you, _please_.”

K couldn’t have gotten his dick out of his jeans and into Ronan faster. He shoved in, rough though Ronan was always loose and a little wet, never more than a few hours away from his most recent fuck, and the zipper of his jeans open but not off his hips hit Ronan’s scraped flesh and it _hurt_  so Ronan couldn’t blink back the tears, and _yeah_. He fucking lived for this.

He was a mess - he already knew this. His skin was red and raw from the spanking and the blood was still flowing, sluggish but fresh, skin itching to knit itself together but prevented by K’s rough treatment. He could feel Kavinsky’s hands on his back, sticky from the drying blood on them and the idea that he might have a mark from that had his dick twitching against the slowly-warming metal below him. 

K wasn’t the kind of guy to go slow, and Ronan never expected him to. The burn of jeans against his flesh was honestly the only thing that kept him from coming at each thrust of K’s cock against his prostate. And he wanted so much more.

“Come on, fuck me like you _mean it_ ,” It wasn’t really smart to taunt a guy who’d just torn you to shreds and got off on the idea of making you bleed, but Ronan never did have much sense of self-preservation. He nearly came again at the press of his hips against his swollen flesh as K reached and wrapped a hand around his throat, pulling him back so he was nearly standing again, pressed flat against Kavinsky’s chest. And K held him there, fingers tightening around his throat until he was gasping for air and wondering how he’d hide the marks this time. 

“Don’t you dare come.” K’s order was unquestionable and Ronan tried to whine, his whimpers strangled by the hard pressure against his throat. There was already a less than zero percent chance he was going to make through the next 2 thrusts of the hard dick inside him, and K expected him to last? But Ronan couldn’t do anything but obey. He’d learned his lesson. He repeated it over and over, trying to convince himself it was true. But something in him railed and raved and he might as well admit he had no intention of following K’s orders again.  

So he reached up, finding K’s hands and trying to pull them away from his throat. It was a wasted venture, he already knew. He knew K was stronger, given his position and the fact that he hadn’t been beaten bloody half a minute ago, but it got him what he wanted, which was for K to fucking _move_. And K did, fingers tightening and thrusts and breathing going erratic. Nothing got him off like Ronan fighting him, _nothing_.

Which was perfect because Ronan loved to fucking fight.

Hands wrapped around K’s wrists, he had leverage to buck back, get that cock deeper and just right, tormenting his prostate in a way that made his vision go a little white with the intensity of it. 

It wasn’t going to take much more than that ruthless pounding, and Ronan gave up the idea of resisting completely. Instead, he thought about the red lines and the scars he might have at the end of this and wondered if Kavinsky would lick the blood off his ass if he asked and _fuck_.

Ronan came harder, even faster than he expected, the idea of his blood on Kavinsky’s lips enough, he thought, to probably make him come twice.

K felt it when it happened, of course, could see the come spurting all over the hood of the Mitsu below them, and Ronan didn’t have to see his face to know his eyes were full of hot, angry loathing. Ronan disobeyed often enough that he’d have thought K would be used to it by now, but Kavinsky could get angry about anything, any time. The fire and hate in his veins ran deeper than a well and infinite.

Ronan choked in a breath as Kavinsky released the grip on his throat only to have it immediately knocked out of him as K put a hand on his back and shoved him down, the force almost making his teeth rattle as he hit the hood again. He felt the sticky, shameful slide of his dick and abs through the slippery come he’d just spilled all over the car. K fucked into him particularly vicious and even though he was oversensitive, raw and whining from all the different sorts of pain his body was feeling, his dick still twitched, interested like he just couldn’t get enough of Kavinsky.

That much was probably true.

K used the leverage above him to hold him down, harder than was really necessary considering Ronan doubted he’d ever regain use of his knees, “You can’t do one goddamn thing right, can you, Lynch?” K punctuated each word with another vicious, dirty grind of his hips, chafing again at Ronan’s impossibly sore ass. Feebly, Ronan tried to thrust back, tried to show Kavinsky that while he wasn’t exactly _sorry_ , he was at least willing to make it up to him. That, and what little flexing of his hole he could manage with what very little energy he had left, would have to do for now.

Ronan had been fucked out, abused, sore, all of these things and more a hundred or a thousand times before, but this was different. He couldn’t even see, couldn’t even think or form words. His whole world was narrowed to the teeth of K’s zipper biting into his destroyed ass and the sensation of K’s dick rubbing the oversensitive spot inside him. Honestly, it was a small miracle he hadn’t already passed out.

K either didn’t notice or didn’t care because he just kept fucking, holding Ronan down, pressing against the cuts on Ronan’s ass so he was sure he’d have red blood stains all over his jeans. Ronan was definitely going to have scars from this and that was kind of fucking perfect. Another mark among so many others that declared to everyone around them: _Property of Joseph Motherfucking Kavinsky._

That’s probably what made K’s hips stutter, made him lose his rhythm and then lose everything inside him. When it happened, when Kavinsky finally let go, he yelled, “You belong to me!” Just one more time, loud like he was making sure the boys back by the bonfire could hear it too, and and then he was coming, flooding Ronan’s ass and pressing again, firmly, against the thin cuts as he emptied himself. 

K held them there for a little longer, his hand pressing against the nape of Ronan’s neck. He leaned over then, whispering, “Who do you belong to?”

“ _You_ ,” It was an automatic response, probably would be for the rest of his life.

That seemed to satisfy K at last because he finally released the pressure on Ronan's back, and Ronan thought he could finally actually breathe again, "And don't you forget it." 

Ronan could only nod and sigh and breathe slowly in and out, thinking:  _I'll never be able to get up off this car_ , and honestly K probably wouldn't have minded that, so it was a little surprising, actually, when he reached back down again and pulled Ronan up. This time it wasn't to choke him, though, instead he looped Ronan's arm over his head, letting him lean on him.

"I assume you don't want to put your jeans back on?" K turned his face to him, a wicked grin flashing across his face so Ronan couldn't miss it even in the ever-increasing dark.

Oh, if Ronan only had his strength back...

**Author's Note:**

> I'm the-real-izzygone on tumblr. I'm working on a bunch of fics rn but I'll still accept prompts and do my very best to complete them in a more timely manner lol.


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